The Detective and the Doctor
by Pickwick12
Summary: Dr. Caitlin Snow has lost the love of her life and is getting superpowers. She's not coping well. Enter Joe West, a man who knows a lot about loss and grief and moving forward. This is a plot bunny that wouldn't die, about Joe West taking a gently parental role in Caitlin's life. Note: This is not a romantic ship. It's strictly about a father/daughter kind of relationship
1. The First time

"What are you going to do?"

"Throw her in the drunk tank, I guess. We can get ID in the morning."

"Too bad. Looks like a classy girl."

Joe West is working late at his desk in the Central City Police Precinct when he hears a conversation in a nearby hallway, louder than usual because there's drunken female voice yelling incoherently during it. The truth is, Joe has a soft spot for all kinds of drunk women, high women, women caught in a bad spot. He knows it's usually inevitable, but he hates that they have to wake up disoriented in a cell.

"Sullivan, who is she? Isn't there somebody you can call?" Joe rubs his tired eyes, following the sound and coming into the echoing corridor.

"No ID on her, or we'd have just driven her home," shrugs the uniformed cop, who is supporting one side of a very drunk woman, with his partner, officer Drummond, on the other side. Joe notices that the intoxicated girl's feet are bare and dusty, probably with cuts on them, and that she's wearing a skirt and top that were nice to start with but are streaked with dirt.

Just then, the mumbling girl looks up.

"I know her," says Joe quickly. "I—I'll take her home."

"You sure?" asks Drummond. "If you have her address, we can just take her there. Me and Tim don't mind."

"It's ok," answers the older, and much more senior, detective. "She's a friend. I'll take care of it."

"You at least want us to help you get her into your car?" asks Drummond dubiously.

Joe shakes his head. "Just leave her in front of my desk while I get my stuff together."

The uniforms follow orders and leave, and Joe is left with an incoherent, mumbling, pale brunette half-sitting, half-lying in one of the uncomfortable metal chairs in front of him.

"Time to go," he says loudly, taking her hand, trying to be gentle. She looks up at him and shakes her head. "Sleepy."

"I know you're sleepy, Sweetheart," he says patiently, "but we need to get you home." It's no use arguing with a heavily intoxicated person, something Joe has known for far too long. In the end, he takes Dr. Caitlin Snow and hoists her over his shoulder, carrying her out of the precinct through the darkest hallways, trying to avoid anyone's curious eyes and hoping to goodness she won't remember any of the indignity in the morning.

She doesn't fight him on getting into the car, and by the time he hooks her seatbelt, she's nearly asleep. That makes it easier when he gets to her apartment. He has no idea where her purse or any identification might be, but she lives in a nice building, and a quick flash of his badge to the security guard downstairs gets him into her place. He regrets having to let anyone know that Dr. Caitlin Snow is the worse for wear, but the guard seems less than surprised, more wryly amused than anything. Joe doesn't like the implication of that, the implication that this isn't the first time something like this has happened.

Once inside, he lays the now-sleeping girl in bed and almost turns tail to leave immediately, but he feels a pang of concern. If this were Iris—heaven forbid—he would want someone to take care of her. Trying not to disturb anything, he takes a washcloth from her bathroom and a bar of soap from the shower and, as gently as he can, washes her grimy feet. Just as he suspected, the street hasn't been kind to them, and he counts five cuts—two minor, three deep enough that they need a bandage on them.

The cop rummages through the scientist's medicine cabinet and finds everything as organized as he'd have expected. He takes out a tube of ointment and a box of bandages and comes back into her bedroom, sitting on the end of the bed and attending to one foot at at a time, putting on the cream and then the bandage over each wound.

When he's almost done, the girl's eyelids flutter open and she sits up quickly and throws her arms around his neck. Taken aback, Joe sits still, not sure what to do. He smells liquor on her breath as she whispers, "I missed you so much," then falls back onto her pillow, asleep again.

Joe blinks back tears. It's been six months since the pale girl lost her husband for the second time, six months since the love of her life sacrificed himself again. It's been twenty years since Joe's wife left him, and it still hurts. Six months is like yesterday; it's a pain he knows well. He finishes the last bandage and pulls Caitlin's comforter up around her shoulders, taking a big hand and smoothing the hair off her forehead.

Then, he goes to her kitchen and finds a pad of paper with a half-finished grocery list. He pulls off an empty sheet and writes:

 _Dr. Snow,_

 _This is Detective West. You were found in downtown Central City last night, intoxicated and by yourself. I'm sorry we couldn't locate your handbag or wallet or shoes, but I'll see what I can do tomorrow. Your feet were cut pretty badly, so I bandaged them. I don't know why you ended up where you were, but I'd like to talk about it. Call me or drop in at he precinct._

 _Joe_

 _p.s. This is between us and a couple of uniform cops who didn't know your name._

The next day, Joe spends the morning answering a possible metahuman threat that turns out to be nothing more than a college kid in a gorilla costume. By the time he catches the kid, Joe is so irritated by the waste of time that he's tempted to throw the book at him. But he doesn't, because when he looks into the kid's face, he sees Barry and Iris and Cisco and Caitlin and even Eddie—all the young, stupid, life-loving people he knows.

"Here's what's going to happen, Son," he says, looking straight into the kid's blue eyes that are scared behind his glasses. "You're going to get back to your dorm, and you're going to study the heck out of this semester, and I'm gonna take down your information, and if you ever do anything to get noticed by the police again, you'll be spending a night in a cell. Understand? The answering nod contains a mix of terror and relief.

Joe drives back to the precinct, glad he didn't bother to bring Spivot. No reason to waste the valuable time of two officers, and her enthusiasm extends to office work, so he, very gratefully, has her reorganizing his taskforce paperwork—with the promise that he'll take her to the metahuman section of Iron Heights in return.

He finally gets back to his desk at 3:00pm and finds a foil-wrapped package tied with green ribbon. He opens the card next to it and finds an old-fashioned thank-you note with swirled cursive writing. On the inside, it reads:

 _Detective West,_

 _I hope the enclosed cookies show how grateful I am for last night. Thank you for keeping this between us._

 _Caitlin Snow_

Joe shakes his head. It's just like her—polite, sweet, a nice gesture, but as avoidant as all getout. He hopes it won't happen again, but he has his doubts.


	2. The Second Time

A month later, Joe is working late again. He tends to do that when he knows Barry will be out anyway and Iris isn't planning to come over. This time, Dunning comes to his desk with a concerned expression on his face.

"Joe—you know that girl, the one you took home a few weeks ago?"

"Yeah." The detective starts to get a sinking feeling in his stomach.

"We picked her up again. She's asleep in my car. What do you want me to do?"

"I'll take care of it," Joe replies.

The transfer from the cop car to his own car isn't difficult. Caitlin is dead weight, already passed out from whatever cocktail of drinks she's had. At least she doesn't have any signs of alcohol poisoning, just the evidence of drinking more than she can handle.

Joe shakes his head. He's disappointed, but he's not surprised. He drives back to the midtown apartment building, but this time, as the guard is opening her locked apartment, Joe asks, "How often does this happen?"

The bored security guard is more than happy to be chatty. "There's not usually any police—just the other time when you came and this time, but she comes in plastered a few times a week, sometimes with guys, usually alone."

"Thanks," says Joe, closing the door behind him and the sleeping woman across his shoulder.

This time, Caitlin's shoes are intact, so Joe sets her in bed and takes them off, then covers her up and turns out the light. Undressing her is way beyond his purview; if she's going to get picked up drunk in the bad part of Central City, she's going to have to deal with spending the night in grimy clothes.

This time, Joe stays. He sends Barry a quick text to say that he's had a work situation come up, and he takes his place on the girl's couch, flipping channels until he's too sleepy to keep his eyes open.

The first sound that pulls the detective out of sleep is oil popping in a pan, something being fried. He opens his eyes and sits up and smells bacon. "Caitlin?" he says softly.

The scientist comes out of the kitchen fully dressed in a different outfit from the previous night and with a huge amount of makeup on—no doubt to cover the signs of her hangover as much as she can. After all, this girl is a professional at hiding her rough nights, Joe figures.

"Good morning," she says, a little too brightly. "I'm so sorry for your trouble. I'm making breakfast so you can eat before you leave."

"All right," he answers mildly. No reason to be confrontational until they both have something in their stomachs.

As methodically as usual, the scientist sets the table, but Joe sees how shaky her hands are. He wonders what she's told her colleagues at Star Labs. None of them have noticed anything—if they had, he'd have heard it from Barry or Iris. Maybe she's claimed to be sick a few times, taken a personal day here and there, made it seem normal.

Once they're seated at the small dining table with plates full of bacon, eggs, and toast, Joe looks over at the immaculately-put together girl and tries to catch her eye. She looks everywhere but at him—at her food, the table, the wall, her gray pumps.

"Caitlin, Honey," he finally says, "we need to talk."

That's when the explosion happens, when the tightly-coiled Dr. Caitlin Snow finally comes loose. She looks at him now, with eyes full of blazing anger. "Detective West," she minces, "I don't know what you think you're doing."

"Well, last night I took a girl home who passed out on the south side of Central City," he says mildly, not intimidated.

Caitlin clenches her jaw visibly. "I don't even know you that well, and you have no business commenting on what I do with my time after work."

"I wasn't aware I'd commented," the detective answers drily, "but I will." He looks back at her, absorbing her anger with his own resoluteness. "If you keep doing this, you're going to get hurt—more than you already have. Two nights picked up by the police means about a hundred more when you didn't get picked up. Different men, different bars, all in places you know your coworkers would never go."

"I'm not an alcoholic," she shoots back.

"I know," he replies, "you're just bad at coping."

"You're not my father, so what is it to you?"

It's so classic that Joe would laugh if the situation wasn't so serious. He takes a sip of coffee before answering. "Caitlin, I worry about you the way I worry about all of you kids at Star Labs. Being a genius doesn't mean your judgment has caught up with your brains. And trying to live a double life doesn't work for anybody. Eventually, there's not going to be any more Dr. Snow because she's going to get eaten up by the girl I brought home last night."

"I still don't see how it's your business," she says.

"Maybe it's not," Joe replies, wiping his mouth with his napkin and standing up from his chair, "but next time you get picked up, you'll wake up in the drunk take; trust me when I say that. If you ever want to talk—have a real talk, I mean—you know where to find me."

He leaves, feeling about ten years older. The woman he's just spoken with is nothing like the bright scientist the world knows as Caitlin Snow, but grief and pain and anger do weird things to people, especially when they have no idea how to handle them.


	3. The Third Time

It's two weeks later when Joe is home alone and hears a knock at his door. He looks through the peephole and sees Caitlin Snow. It's hard to tell, but she doesn't look the worse for wear. He opens the door.

"Caitlin? Barry's not here."

She shakes her head and smiles shyly. "It's—not a work thing. I came to see you. I called the precinct, and they said you weren't working tonight. I'm sorry if it's an intrusion."

"Not at all," Joe answers. "I just made some tea. Do you want some?" She nods, and he pours her a mug of his favorite Earl Grey.

Caitlin perches on the edge of the sofa, and Joe takes his place in his easy chair next to her. "Want to talk?"

She stares at her hands. "I—first of all, I want to apologize for last time. I wasn't myself. Tonight I came over because I was scared."

"Scared?" Joe prompts neutrally.

"I'd be lying if I said I hadn't been out since we talked, but this is the first time I felt—what I feel like when I know I'm going to lose control." Her hold on her tea mug is as tight as a death grip. "I—don't want to wake up in a cell. You weren't wrong about that."

"So you came here instead," Joe supplies.

The girl nods. "You're the only one I can trust who—knows about me."

"You want to know what I know?" Joe asks. "I know that you're young, and you've already endured a loss two times that almost kills people who have decades on you. I also know you're strong, or you wouldn't be here."

The girl blushes, and Joe picks up his TV remote. "Want to watch TV? It's a great way to get your mind off things. What do you like? PBS or something?"

Caitlin turns to him, smiling for the first time since he's seen her. "Actually, I like boxing." Perfect. Joe turns on the fights, and he and Dr. Caitlin Snow sit back and watch huge men punch the stuffing out of each other.

It's nearly eleven when Joe turns off the TV. "Barry will be here soon. How about I follow you home? If you give me your keys, I'll keep them, so you won't be able to go out, even if you feel like it. I'll bring them over before you leave for work in the morning, and nobody will be the wiser."

The girl nods. "I would—appreciate that." Joe follows her outside and back to her apartment. When they arrive in the dark parking lot, she gets out of her car and pulls her key off her keyring without any argument.

"Thanks," says Joe, "oh, and let me give you my cell number." She hands over her smartphone and he inputs it. "This way, you call me any time you start feeling like you're going over the edge. You understand? Any time. I don't care when. If you just want to text, use the word 'Red,' like a code. I'll know what you mean, and that way, if Barry or Iris is with me, nobody will know."

He wants to give her a hug, to wrap his arms around her thin shoulders and comfort her, but she's not his daughter, and he doesn't want to violate her boundaries, so he only nods as he hands back her phone. Caitlin nods back and turns to go inside, a small, lonely figure against the moonlight. Joe watches her, feeling the sadness of his own losses.


	4. The Fourth Time

"Red." Joe's phone buzzes at 10:30 p.m. He's working late at the precinct, and so is his surrogate son.

He gets up and walks into the forensic lab, stretching his weary muscles. "Barry, I'm going to head out."

Distracted by his in-progress chemical analysis, the kid mumbles a simple "ok," and Joe figures he has a couple of hours at least before Barry will be home or wonder where he is.

On his way out to his car, Joe texts back, "Meet me at home?"

"Can't drive."

"Where are you?"

"Jake Strong's."

"I'll be right there."

Joe sighs. Jake Strong's is an ugly place, the kind of place where people like the Snart siblings hang out, people who are up to no good—not people like Caitlin Snow. It takes him fifteen minutes to get there, and when he does, he finds the girl shivering outside the door.

In an instant, Joe gets out and takes off his jacket, handing it to her. "You're freezing. Put this on."

She complies and gets into his car meekly, not looking at him. After a few minutes' ride, she clears her throat. "I almost didn't text you."

"I'm glad you did," he answers. "Good choice not trying to drive."

"I'm so ashamed," she says. "I told myself it wouldn't happen again, that I wouldn't let it, that I wouldn't need to bother you again, but then I started missing Ronnie, and I went to Jack's and had a couple of beers, and I realized that if I didn't do something, I was going to lose it again."

Joe hears tears in her distraught voice, and he can't take any more. He pulls over. "You want a hug?" He looks over at the girl by the light of a streetlamp and sees her nod, her face glistening with moisture.

On the side of Third Street in Central City, Detective Joe West leans across the middle of his car and pulls Dr. Caitlin Snow into a gentle, forgiving embrace. Only, it doesn't feel like a detective and a scientist. It feels like a father and a daughter. At least, that's how it feels to him.

She cries a little bit, not full-on sobs, but silent, painful tears that he can only sense from the hitched sound of her breathing. He wishes she would let go and let it out, but at least she's not resisting, clinging to him like he's a big, warm life-preserver.

He holds her until her breathing calms, and then he silently drives her home. Like before, she wordlessly hands him her keys. "I'll pick up your car and drop it off here in the morning," he says.

"Thank you," she says. It's the first words she's said in several minutes. "I don't know why you're doing this for me, Detective West, but I really appreciate it."

"Sweetheart," he answers, "a long time ago, I lost the love of my life. For a long time after that, I lost myself in work. I used to bring Iris to the precinct so I could convince myself I was spending time with her, but I was just trying not to think about anything or feel anything. It wasn't drugs or alcohol, but it wasn't any healthier. My boss finally sat me down and then suspended me for two weeks, so I had nothing else to think about but everything I was trying to avoid. It was the best thing that could have ever happened to me. I took Iris to the park every day, and I sat by her bed while she fell asleep and read her stories. I realized that even though I'd seen a whole lot of ugly, there was still a lot of beautiful."

"The thing is, Caitlin, I know what ugly feels like, and I know what it's like on the other side. The pain doesn't go away, but it gets bearable when you start to realize how much you have left to experience. I know I'm not anything to you except Barry's dad and an over-the-hill cop, but I care about what you're going through."

To Joe's surprise, Dr. Caitlin Snow stands on tiptoe and kisses his cheek. "Thank you, Detective West." She leaves, and he shakes his head. Maybe she's more intoxicated than he realized. Or maybe not at all.


	5. The Fifth Time

"Red." It's family night, the weekly night when Joe, Iris, and Barry reconnect over pasta. This week, the main course is the detective's spaghetti. He washes his sauce-covered hands and pokes his head into the living room, where Barry and Iris are playing Scrabble.

"You guys ok with Caitlin and Cisco coming over? I know it's usually just us, but I thought it might be nice to have some company."

"Sure." Both of his kids look delighted at the idea.

Joe texts Caitlin back to warn her that they won't be alone and calls Cisco as quickly as he can. Thankfully, the scientist is willing to give up his Thursday night World of Warcraft game for a chance to nosh on Joe West's famous spaghetti.

Within the hour, Caitlin arrives with a loaf of garlic bread, and Cisco arrives with a vase of flowers. Weirdly polite, those two, Joe thinks as he puts the bread into a basket and the flowers on the table.

The meal is about as normal as it could get, and normal is good. He's glad this is the night Caitlin reached out to him, because she needs family and normalcy as much as she needs anything else. He wishes she would choose to tell the others about her pain and the depth of her struggles, but that's up to her.

After dinner, the scientists stay long enough for a few rounds of risk-free Poker and a slice of Iris's banana cake. When they finally get up to leave, Joe goes outside and waits for Cisco to drive away before having a quick conversation with Caitlin. "You ok to keep your keys tonight?"

She nods, smiling serenely. "Yeah, I'm ok."

"All right," he says. "I trust you." She leaves, and he goes back in to rejoin his kids and watch late night TV while Iris falls asleep on his shoulder.

He does trust the girl, but that doesn't mean he doesn't worry. He knows what it's like to be up late at night and to have the thought of someone's face come to your mind when you don't want it there, when you'd do almost anything to get rid of it.

Finally, just before midnight, he texts. "You ok, Red?"

"I'm ok, Dad," she answers, with a goofy emoticon at the end, like it's a joke. But it doesn't really feel like one.

Joe looks in the mirror as he brushes his teeth and wonders just how he got himself another kid. He's already got two—one who belongs to him and one he chose. Caitlin Snow is nothing like either of them. She's not open and enthusiastic like Iris, and she's not emotional and intuitive like Barry. She's controlled and quiet, but also unexpectedly vulnerable. He's good at reading people; he always has been. It's one reason why he's still alive, given his line of work. The bottom line is, Caitlin Snow needs him. She has no family, and of all the people she could have reached out to, his hand was the one she'd accepted.

The detective finishes his nighttime routine by washing his face and smiles inadvertently at his reflection. He likes being a dad. He likes it even more than he likes being a detective.


	6. The Sixth Time

Red. Come to my apartment. Please." Joe races over, worried. He's seen Caitlin several times since her last SOS, and she's been doing well. He wonders what could have set her off. When he gets to her door, she opens it with a flourish and nearly knocks him off his feet with the vehemence of her hug.

"Happy birthday, Joe," she says from against his shoulder. "I know Barry and Iris have a party planned for later, but I wanted to see you first."

She pulls back, and Joe shakes his head. "You nearly gave me a heart attack with that text message."

Caitlin smiles sheepishly. "Sorry, but I wanted to surprise you." She hands him a wrapped package, and he opens it. All it contains is a pink, flowered journal. He looks over at the girl, confused.

"It's, um—every time you've taken care of me or texted to check on me, I've written you a letter. I wasn't going to show them to you. The first few aren't very nice. But I realized it was only right to give them to you, since I'm not very good at saying out loud how I feel about things."

Joe feels his eyes mist. "I'll only keep this until tonight. Then I'll give it back so you can keep writing. Journey's just beginning, you know."

"I know," she answers, coming willingly into the arms he opens for her.

This time, he holds her against him, and he says, "Caitlin, I'd be very proud if you were my daughter."

She pulls back for a second and says playfully, "Detective West, I thought I already was." She hugs him again, and it's as simple as that.


End file.
